Elizabeth was her grandfather's chief
companion in-doors, and she was cheerful for his sake under
circumstances that were tryingly oppressive. To keep up to her duty she
rode daily, rain or fair, and towards the month's end there were many
soft, wet days when all the wolds were wrapt in mist. People watched her
go by often, with Joss at Janey's heels, and Ranby following behind, and
said they were sorry for Miss Fairfax; it was very sad for so young a
girl to have to bear, unsupported, the burden of her grandfather's
declining old age. For the squire was still consistent in his obstinacy
in refusing to be gracious to his son and his son's wife and children,
and Bessie, on her uncle Laurence's advice, refrained from mentioning
them any more. Old Jonquil alone had greater courage.
One evening the squire, after lying long silent, broke out with, "Poor
Fred is gone!" the first spontaneous allusion to his loss that he had
made.
Jonquil hastened to him. "My dear master, my dear master!" he lamented.
"Oh, sir, you have but one son now! forgive him, and let the little boys
come home--for your own sake, dear master."
"They will come home, as you call it, when I follow poor Fred. My son
Laurence stands in no need of forgiveness--he has done me no wrong.
Strange women and children would be in my way; they are better where
they are." Thus had the squire once answered every plea on behalf of his
son Geoffry.
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